


Dollhouse Drabbles

by dreamsofspike



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: A collection of my drabbles for Dollhouse, various pairings. Topher/VictorWarnings: abuse, non-con, violence, dark themes





	1. Illusions

The people he works with seem to mostly assume that Topher is basically amoral -- unconcerned with the ethics of what it is they do here, and only interested in the fascinating scientific and technological power of it all.  
  
Mostly... they're right.  
  
And then there are cases like this.  
  
Topher feels sick as he listens to the hoarse, pitiful cries coming from the doll in the corner, curled up into a fetal position with his arms wrapped around his knees, his head buried in his arms as broken, desolate sobs escape his lips.  
  
He doesn't usually ask about the specifics of the assignments -- doesn't usually care. All he knows is the imprint he's supposed to use in each particular case -- and he'd rather not think about why a client might want an attractive, young adult body imprinted with the mentality of an eight year old child.  
  
Usually, he doesn't have to deal with the aftermath, either. The handlers have their dolls under control by the time they reach him to be wiped again.  
  
Not this time.  
  
Victor won't let his handler near him.  
  
Topher doesn't want to be here at all right now, doesn't want to be caught in this terrible situation -- but there's no way of getting around it -- no way of fixing the problem short of getting Victor into the chair, and erasing whatever traumatic memories currently fill his head.  
  
"Toby," he says softly, remembering to use the name of the imprint rather than the doll as he cautiously approaches, crouched low so as to appear less threatening. "Hey... it's okay. You're safe here. It's okay..."  
  
"He'll come back." The voice is miserable, terrified, sickeningly childlike. "I know he will..."  
  
"No," Topher assures him, choking on the words, because he knows that these types of clients usually _do_ come back. "No, I promise -- you'll never have to see him again."  
  
More quiet crying is his only response.  
  
"Hey, Toby... wanna see a magic trick?"  
  
The man-child peeks up at him from behind his folded arms, dark eyes wide and innocent and glittering with tears. He looks around the room, sees that they're alone, and there's no sign of the man he so fears. He looks back to meet Topher's eyes again.  
  
"What... what kind of a trick?" he cautiously whispers.  
  
"I can make it yesterday," Topher whispers back in a tone of awe and mystery, giving Victor a smile and a wink, as if letting him in on a tremendous secret. "I can make it so today never happened."  
  
Victor looks up, lips parted in childlike wonder, such a desperate hope in his eyes.  
  
It sounds too good to be true.  
  
It might be better for Victor if it actually _was_.


	2. Oral Fixation

This is a rare opportunity.  
  
Victor's latest client didn't want a full, elaborate history -- a complex character with whom to perform a detailed role play. No, this particular client had asked for a doll who wouldn't speak, wouldn't object, wouldn't interrupt his pleasure with any annoying self-interested requests.  
  
Basically -- he wanted a pretty boy doll who lived to suck cock.  
  
Topher knows that imprinted desire isn't specific to the client alone. He knows because he programmed it himself, with this very moment in mind, when he might get the opportunity to take a few meager perks from his job here.  
  
"Hey, Victor," he murmurs as he unzips his pants, glancing toward the closed and locked door to the control room, making sure he's positioned far enough from the windows so as to be beyond view from the ground floor. "I've got something for you..."  
  
He didn't bother changing his name for this assignment.  
  
For this assignment, Victor might as well have not had a name at all.  
  
Topher smiles with contentment as the doll eagerly begins to execute his programming, and leans back against the chair for support.  
  
Sometimes, he really loves his job.


	3. Tokens of Appreciation

"You wanted to see me?"  
  
She's sitting on the edge of the chair when he walks into the control room, but rises as he enters, giving him a polite smile.  
  
"Yes. Come in, Topher."   
  
"Yeah... I will, since I... kind of work here. Why did you want to see me _here_ , anyway?"  
  
There's something about the whole situation that unnerves him, making him wonder what it is that's being kept from him. She left him a brief, rather cryptic message that simply said to meet her in the control room to receive a token of her appreciation.  
  
However promising that might have sounded, Topher was anxious and unsettled -- and moreso when he saw the two large, silent members of the security staff accompanying her.  
  
"Well, it _was_ the scene of the crime, wasn't it?"  
  
"Uh... yeah. _Her_ crime," he hastned to remind her. "Echo's... Caroline's... whoever she was. I did everything i could to try to stop her..."  
  
"Yes, I could see that. I'm sure the weeping and pleading would have been completely effective if I'd just given you a few more moments before intervening."  
  
A chill went down his spine at the cool derision in her voice as he protested, "Hey, that... wasn't my fault! Having a gun to my head is _not_ part of my job description!"  
  
Instantly her smile faded, a dangerous gleam in her eyes as she snapped, "Doing whatever it takes to keep this place running and functional _is_ your _job description_!"  
  
Topher held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, taking an unconscious step backward toward the door as Dewitt rose from her perch on the chair and moved toward him, her arms crossed angrily over her chest.  
  
"O-okay... okay, you're right... shutting up now..."  
  
"Yes, that would be wise."   
  
Dewitt seemed to settle a bit with his submission, sighing and shaking her head as she leaned back against the wall instead of the chair. Still, Topher felt the sick sensation in his stomach intensifying as he wondered again what this strange meeting was all about.  
  
"I... d-don't have to remind you how I nearly _died_ as a part of our big plan to protect this place..."  
  
She smiled with a slow, patient nod. "I'm aware of that, Topher. I was there. And, truth be told, I'm beginning to suspect that perhaps the position you've been given is a bit too... dangerous, for your particular skillset."  
  
"Um... okay. That... sounds good. You going to give me more security from now on? Is that what the muscle is here for?" He gestured with a trembling hand toward the security guards, then hurriedly put his hand down again when he realized how badly it was shaking.  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
Warning bells went off in his mind, but the two guards had him by the arms before he could move. He tried to pull away, but he was not even close to a match for their strength as they dragged him toward the chair.  
  
"Hey... hey, wait! What are you doing? What... _stop it_!"  
  
"We highly value your contribution here, Topher," Dewitt offered by way of vague explanation. "I want you to know that. In fact... we value it too highly to allow it to ever be lost."  
  
"What are you talking about? What are you _doing_?" Panic seized Topher and he tried in vain to escape as the men fastened the little-used restraints on the arms of the chair around his wrists and forearms, binding him into place.  
  
"Restrain his head, too. It wouldn't do to have him moving during the procedure..."   
  
Dewitt's voice was detached and unconcerned, and suddenly Topher felt a cold sense of despair building in the pit of his stomach. His breath was rapid and shallow, his heart pounding so hard and fast that he could feel it as he struggled to get out the frantic, trembling words.  
  
" _What procedure_? What are you doing to me?"  
  
"Something we should have done a long time ago. I can't believe we didn't think of it before. Your personality, memories, knowledge -- everything -- will be stored in the form of an imprint, which we will place into one of the dolls. Then, if something happens to that doll, it's not a crisis. We still have the imprint."  
  
"What... but... but you _can't_! What about _me_?" His voice is panicked, a high, thready, near-scream by now.  
  
She gives him a calm, almost benevolent smile. "Don't worry, Topher. You won't ever have to worry about any of this again."


	4. Rope

Intimidation by means of physical violence is a regular part of Ballard's interactions with Lubov.  
  
 _It's the only way to communicate with these people -- the only thing they understand..._  
  
He takes Lubov by surprise, wrapping a length of thin rope around his throat and jerking him back against his own larger, more muscular frame. They're alone in an alley, no one around to witness the scene and interfere in what they don't understand.  
  
"Do you have what I want yet?" Ballard demands. "What have you learned?"  
  
"N-nothing!" Lubov stammers, clearly terrified. "I swear to you, I've been asking, but no one has heard of this 'dollhouse'. Are you..." He hesitates, grimacing slightly as he ventures, "... are you sure it actually exists?"  
  
Motivated by equal parts frustration and systematic manipulation methods, Ballard drives a fist into the mobster's back, allowing the rope to fall slack and releasing Lubov as he collapses forward onto his knees. Slowly, Ballard walks around to face him.  
  
"I'm not happy, Lubov," he states coldly, hoping he sounds suitably scary.  
  
The fact that he's towering over the kneeling mobster, alone in a deserted alley, might help to set the mood.  
  
He looks down at his captive and waits expectantly. When Lubov looks up at him -- wide, dark eyes staring up with near-innocence through thick, lush lashes -- Ballard feels his breath rush out of his lungs at the sensual expression on his face.  
  
"I can make you happy," he whispers, no trace of a Russian accent in his voice. "I can do... whatever you want..."  
  
"What?" Ballard is horrified, backing away hurriedly and pushing away the seeking hands of the kneeling stranger. "No! What are you...? _No!_ "  
  
The young man flinches slightly, drawing back and whispering, "Okay. Whatever you want."  
  
Ballard is stunned and confused and horrified. He hesitates a moment before crouching in front of him, studying him closely. Nothing he'd read had indicated that Lubov had any mental problems, but he was beginning to wonder if he was a schizophrenic. As he waits, unsure what to do or say, Lubov shakes his head slowly and then looks up at him, a clarity of understanding returning to his eyes.  
  
"Hey... what's up with you? What did you think you were doing?"  
  
"I swear to you, I've told you everything I know. I realize that's n-nothing, but... maybe there _is_ nothing! You have to at least consider that possibility!"  
  
The desperation in Lubov's voice sounds real -- but Ballard has to wonder, at this point, if anything is real at all.


	5. Clubbing

He's sitting at the bar, ordering his second drink, when the other man approaches him.  
  
Topher smiles appreciatively at the attractive stranger, nodding as he offers to buy the next round. Dancing fills a half an hour or so, and Topher slows his pace, allowing himself to be distracted, to turn his back for a few seconds, as his new friend beats him back to the bar.  
  
He swallows back what's left of his drink without hesitation, smiling warmly into the stranger's eyes as he orders him another.  
  
When he starts to feel lightheaded and fuzzy, he welcomes the sensation.  
  
This is what he's been waiting for.  
  
He's aware but unable to do anything about it as he's half-carried to the car of his new companion, dumped into the backseat and driven to a strange apartment. He murmurs a few 'no's in a token protest, relishing the helplessness as the stronger man pins him down, covering his mouth and refusing to listen to his refusals.  
  
He's taken by force, able to feel the burning agony and the utter inability to defend himself as the dark stranger uses him, ruthlessly plundering his body with no regard to his comfort or desires.  
  
This is his fantasy and his penance all in one -- and yet, carried out in the safety of knowing that he's still in control -- always in control -- because he's the one that's designed it.


	6. Just One Time

He thinks he can get away with it... just one time.  
  
After all, he arranges his annual birthday party for two with Sierra every year, and no one's caught onto _that_ yet.  
  
Sierra makes a wonderful friend -- when properly imprinted -- but anyone who knows Topher at all knows that his interests run in a different direction.  
  
And that's... precisely no one.  
  
He's unbearably lonely, and can no longer deny his intense attraction to the most popular male active in the Dollhouse. Every time Victor passes his line of vision, he finds his gaze drawn after him, his thoughts distracted from his work by fantasies of various imprints he could give the gorgeous doll, and all the tantalizing ways in which he could use them.  
  
 _Just one time_...  
  
He tries to resist the temptation, but when he finally gets his chance -- a rare forty-eight hour period between assignments for Victor, that happens to fall during the only two days in as long as he can remember that Dewitt has taken off work -- Topher can't help himself.  
  
It's beyond anything he'd imagined.  
  
Victor anticipates his every need and desire, making him feel sexy and desirable and cherished and loved -- everything he wants but knows he'll never have. He's perfect.  
  
He should be; he's programmed to be.  
  
It's over far too quickly, and Topher thinks he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. He'll never be able to hold out and resist the temptation to do this again.  
  
He thinks _maybe_ he can get away with it... just _one more_ time...


	7. Watching

Sometimes the power goes to his head.  
  
Topher is well aware of the fact that he could be replaced, and in far more frightening and permanent ways than would be possible in other jobs. He knows that in the hierarchy of the Dollhouse, he's really not that high up.  
  
But without him... this place wouldn't exist.  
  
In his upper level chamber where the actives are imprinted and wiped... Topher holds the power to make of them what he will.  
  
Sometimes he watches from behind his computer, pretending to work, but really enjoying the view on the lower level. They walk around in quiet, blank oblivion, having no idea of what is in store for them.  
  
He can make of them what he will... do with them what he chooses.  
  
He knows it makes him irreparably twisted and screwed up... but he can't help but get off on it.


	8. Self-Discipline

Echo gets up from the imprint chair, and Topher instinctively takes a step back in anticipation of what he knows to come.  
  
She glances around the room -- _making sure we're alone_ \-- then back at him with a wicked, malicious grin. He swallows hard, backing away as she slowly advances on him.   
  
"What's the matter, Topher?" she taunts him softly. "Can't face up to the consequences of your own actions?"  
  
"No, that's... that's not..."  
  
"What _was_ that, Topher?" she demands, her voice hardening as she corners him against the wall, dark eyes blazing with anger and disgust. "How could you have let that happen?"  
  
"I... It was an accident, Echo... it wasn't supposed to..."  
  
"No, it _wasn't_ supposed to," she cuts him off, her voice sharp and accusing. Her tone softens becoming even more cutting for all its softness as she leans in closer. "But you just can't seem to get anything right lately, can you? You're supposed to be some kind of computer genius; these days, you're acting like the stupid, pathetic little boy you used to be." Her lips twist into a cruel smirk as she waits until he meets her eyes to conclude.  
  
"I guess you still are... aren't you, Topher? Still the same useless little geek you've always been..."  
  
"No," he insists, closing his eyes, which burn with tears despite his knowledge that this whole scenario is of his own creation. "No, I'm not..."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" she sneers, leaning in close, her hands braced on the wall, hemming him in. There's a challenge in her eyes when she speaks again. "Prove it."  
  
His voice is trembling as he swallows hard and responds, barely over a whisper. "Echo... would you... would you like a treatment?"  
  
Echo steps back, giving him an appraising look. "Yeah," she relents at last with a slow nod. "Yeah... that sounds good."  
  
Topher tries to hide his relief -- at least for a few more seconds -- as he follows her back to the chair and goes through the procedure to wipe her of this very secret, very personal imprint.  
  
As she leaves, he slumps down into his chair, covering his face with his hands and letting out a shaky breath.  
  
 _Well, my friend... looks like you've just redefined the word "self-discipline"._


	9. Pixie Sticks

"Hey, come on! Who's secret candy stash is this, anyway?"  
  
"Relax, Topher. There's enough here to last you for years..."  
  
"Not my KitKats! Those are my favorites! Hey!"  
  
"Don't worry, I'll only eat one. That should leave you with... about twenty."  
  
"It doesn't matter how many there are. You could _ask_ before violating a dude's personal private candy stash... and... is that my last pixie stick?"  
  
"... Maybe."  
  
"I wanted that!"  
  
" _Seriously?_ Dude! It's just a pixie stick!"  
  
"It's the new watermelon flavor! I wanted to try it and now you've eaten it and... what are you... what... _mmph_!"  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"There. Will you quit whining now?"  
  
"... I think I may have... quit _breathing_ now..."  
  
"So how's it taste?"  
  
"Unbelievable."  
  
"Good."  
  
"You... _kissed_ me."  
  
"So... I hope we're not gonna let things be weird tomorrow because of this..."  
  
"Don't worry. I promise you, we won't."


End file.
